Thursday, March 18, 2010

420 Characters? AARGH AGAIN!!!

"The Tim" is grumpy... I just got a grade back today on a paper I wrote for this course I'm attending.  I had one... ONE formatting error...  ONE! ...  and I got a 87.  The reason?  He couldn't understand it.  He couldn't understand my paper and couldn't grade it properly.  I'm no English major, but I make an effort to learn and apply grammar in both speech and written work.  I think the problem stems mostly from the fact that society as a whole, (or more directly, the Marine Corps,) has devolved so much that when someone reads a properly constructed sentence, his alarms go off telling him that something is not right.  I argued it to the wide-eyed Gunnery Sergeant who told me he would have to research and verify what I said as true, and that he would get back to me.  I hate that I have to consider "dumbing down" in order to get a decent grade on an assignment.  AARGH!!!!!!

To top it all off on this, my night of aggravation... I'm advised by Facebook that that last rant was too long for them to post... it needs to be 420 characters or less.  Maybe if I dumbed it down as well with the colloquialisms of our net-induced culture, full of all the gr8 [sic] condensed verbiage we've come to recognize as commonplace, then it too would allow me to pass without question.  At least I can post it here on my blog and it will automatically re-post to my Facebook page without restriction.  I'm not any less frustrated with the situation though.

I don't like where our language is going.

2 comments:

Mary Ellen said...

It might be my computer, but I can't really read your post because of how it is formatted. The end of each line is cut off. Ironic, eh?

Larzanth said...

You don't like where it is going? Sorry, it has gone there so many times Webster is tired of getting raped.

Perhaps in our future a vestige will remind us that once we actually used our mouths to produce eloquent syllogisms rather than as intake valves for cheap beer and output devices for lavishly whipping tongues and the cheap beer that we couldn't keep in our bodies.

To meet with our own doom means to reason with ourselves.

Why did I drink that?

Why did I think that?

Why did I sign that contract?

Why am I now in this course?